The House on the Hill

I wrote this poem back in Jan 2005 when I found this old abandoned mansion in Chancery Hill Road. The owner's son had moved overseas and was unable to return because he didn't do his National Service. 

The owner had passed away sometime in the 1950s leaving dishes in the sink to wash, clothes in the cupboards, photos of horse racing on the walls - apparently they were wealthy enough to own race horses, and old art deco furniture.

In 2009, the new owners had the place razed to the ground, nothing of the place remains now.

The abandoned house left a powerful impression upon me. And I wrote this poem shortly after I visited the place.

The house on the hill
stands silent and still
Its front door is locked
Its windows are open.
Old cupboards are inside
Filled with dusty dresses
And worm-eaten books
The old house waits
Waiting for master
Waiting for mistress
But no one returns

Singapore Balcony 1am Draft 1

Soft is the velvet night sky

Quiet is the black night air

A gentle breeze passes by

In silence we patiently wait for dawn

Random thoughts

On her epitaph, it was written: here lies a mother who gave her husband's inheritance to her children to strange men.